


Too Much Love Will Kill You

by Background_Foxe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blackmail, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threats of Violence, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26449957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Background_Foxe/pseuds/Background_Foxe
Summary: Crowley kidnaps and tortures the Winchester boys in order to obtain an item on his wish list, only to discover and utilise a few relationship secrets that Dean has stashed away
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Too Much Love Will Kill You

**Author's Note:**

> Fic style tester piece to see how it goes; as usual, apologies for any major canon mess up, I'm still speedily working my way through the seasons  
> In other news, I have missed being able to write bugger in a story. Hoorah for Crowley!

__

_Yes, too much love will kill you  
It'll make your life a lie  
Yes, too much love will kill you  
And you won't understand why  
You'd give your life, you'd sell your soul  
But here it comes again  
Too much love will kill you  
In the end_

*

There was a thing in a box. And that box was in a place. And that place was extremely hard to find, which was essentially the reason why Crowley had taken the opportunity to ‘borrow’ the Winchester boys to conclude a piece of business. 

He’d been working on them for at least six hours already. Truth be told, his success in their capture had largely resulted from luck; the younger boy had been doing something research-y that had meant that his sleep pattern wasn’t so much fucked up as non-existent, and the elder one had voted for a bar with a lot of alcohol and chosen one of Crowley’s people as a suitable fuck date for that evening. Bad choice, all told. Kids these days, they were supposed to be all in for safe sex and yet never considered concussions or blood sacrifice. Tricky.

Crowley stood in the corner of the room watching the proceedings with the detached expression of one that was mildly interested but not enough that he didn’t disappear off every so often to catch up with other business considerations. And although it was always fun to watch the smirk being wiped off Dean’s face, six damned hours straight was a bit of a box set marathon to get through. Currently the older boy was hanging from his wrists, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead and a few random gashes on his cheek, and his body already demonstrating a whole range of cuts, slices, bruises and various other things on the ‘ouch’ range. The nudity was a nice touch. Really hard to be cocky and sarcastic when you were quite so vulnerable to a blade, and anyway genitals really messed up a dramatic moment.

Said boy hadn’t broken yet, but then Crowley would have been extremely disappointed if he had. That was neither fun, nor would achieve his end goal, but Winchesters as a family were nothing if not stubborn arseholes who refused to give in. This was especially true at the point when they really, really should give in, but it wasn’t Crowley’s job to give life hints and tips on increasing life expectancy. 

Dean’s little brother was also in a similar position. Struggling to breathe and sporting a black eye that was already slightly puffy, Crowley’s men had strapped Sam’s hands to a waist height piece of metal piping that really wasn’t going anywhere unless people were in the mood for some significant construction project work, and had gone to town on making his back and ass as decorative as possible. Canes were excellent for that purpose, Crowley found. Delicate, a wonderful whistling noise and the agonised scream at impact, and the knife-like way it opened up the skin. Sam had done pretty well to keep quiet until the fourth blow, but a little extra and he was singing like a bird. A large, mangled bird that had just been hit by a car and now had a broken wing, but a bird nevertheless. 

Time to make himself visible, he felt. It seemed impolite not to.

“Hello, boys.” 

Ah, the effect was wonderful. His henchmen had stepped to one side, one cleaning the cane with a cloth and the other giving a little nod of subservience as he made his way back to the wall. The boys themselves had looked up immediately, the younger boy’s eyes uncertain whether to be angry or concerned, and the elder boy’s eyes so full of rage that he could have given many of Crowley’s own demons a run for their money.

“What the fuck do you want?!” Dean had gone well past his usual one line sarcastic element, which was partly the reason that Crowley hadn’t bothered to show himself until much later. Dean in his arsehole mood was just an annoyance when it came to negotiations. An angry Dean was one he could actually talk to, or occasionally at, depending where the gags were at the time. 

The boy’s glare was deadly, a little trickle of blood working its way from the corner of his mouth from either a cut lip or a cracked tooth. Well, something mouth related anyway, he wasn’t a bloody dentist.

“Dean. I always miss our little chats.” Crowley wandered toward the desk in the centre of the room and idly picked up what appeared to be an old paperweight that had been left by the previous owners. It was large, round and pretty solid, and he rolled it idly in his hands.

“These idiots haven’t even told us what you want.”

“Perhaps I don’t want anything. Perhaps I just want to see you suffer. Imagine the fun we could have with that!” Crowley mused. 

Dean pulled on his manicles with a little metallic chink! and scowled even harder. Yes, Crowley hadn’t expected the boy to have reached that lovely wary phase yet. Dean Winchester seemed to approach supernatural setbacks in much the same way as an alcoholic had their stages; first one was always denial. Second one went into anger. Third one went into sarcastic one liners, as though acting like he didn’t care might in some way persuade the other side to let them go. And then, normally, there was a stage of bargaining or plotting, and that was always a good fun one to have rather than buggering around with violent playing.

“You’re normally too busy to just make us suffer,” came Sam’s voice from his location, and man, the day’s activities had really done a number on his voice. It was soft and almost rasping from where baby brother had screamed a little too loudly and too long, and Crowley wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that he’d damaged his vocal chords from today’s session.

“Too busy for you?” Crowley opened his hands wide as though trying to sell them an old car.

“Yeah. You combine business with pleasure. So what’s the business?” Sam panted, eyes staring at him from under his mop of hair. “If you wanted us dead for something then you’d have just killed us without the risk of someone saving us before that point.”

“Aww, Sammy, you’ve been thinking about me. That’s actually quite sweet.” Crowley twirled the paperweight idly. The moose always had been the smarter one out of the pair.

“So?” Dean snapped. “What the fuck?”

“Language, boys, language. You’re not really in the position to piss me off,” he raised an eyebrow and walked a little closer to Dean in order to inspect some of the injuries. Very nice. “Well, you are in a position, but it’s a sodding poor one.”

“What are you after?” Sam’s little croak spoke again, and Crowley glanced back at him casually. The dust and dirt from the room indicated that even the rough and tough Sam Winchester hadn’t been able to stop his eyes watering or even perhaps properly crying during the impacts, little streaks from the tears tracked through the grime, and that was a really beautiful thing. 

“The amulet of Pabore.” Crowley announced, tossing the paperwork from one hand to the other. “You two know where it is. I require it. Ergo, we’re in this fun little playhouse here.”

There was a long silence from that, which was entirely expected. He watched the boys in interest, the look of confusion mixed with anger mixed with concentration mixed with a whole range of stuff that would ultimately finish with the kiddies trying to work out the best way to save themselves from another fine mess. Crowley began to wander around the room again, still undertaking his miniature juggling activities as he did so. Oh, they had time. They had so much time, and it never tasted quite so good if you rushed things.

“We don’t know where that is.” Sam said finally, and a little weakly.

“Bollocks.” Crowley flashed him a winning smile. “I know you do.”

“Well, we don’t,” Dean again, his voice fierce and hard and would have been impressive had he not been dangling from a chain on a hook from the ceiling like the Sunday roast. Crowley put on his best fake sad look and held up the paperweight to look through it as though it was a crystal ball.

“We could perhaps help you look for it?” Sam hazarded a suggestion. Crowley made a soft noise.

“And that's another round of bollocks. Don’t take me for an idiot, Sam. We both know you’d both be doing something unsavoury as soon as you were out your bonds. I’d like to think we’ve learned each other’s habits by now.” Crowley put on his best disappointed voice. 

“Then keep me as a hostage.” Dean snarled.

“I’m going to go with no, with a side of ‘tell me what I need to know otherwise we start up the whipping again’.” Crowley smiled back at him. “I know, I’m traditional, it’s a flaw.”

“We honestly don’t know where it is.” Sam replied, and that was the tone he was waiting for, that slightly nervous tone of one who has realised that they didn’t so much have a bad hand as missing the whole damned pack of cards. And Sam was nervous, that much was certain. There was a little pool of blood under the youngest Winchester’s feet, trails of blood having snaked their way from back down his legs in what was actually a pretty pattern. His eyes were wide and young and uncertain. Crowley could have fed on that for days.

“Well,” Crowley drawled. “That _is_ unfortunate.”

He delicately placed the paperweight back on the table and then wandered toward his minion who was still holding the cane. Sam visibly stiffened as soon as Crowley took it, and Dean looked both wild and panicked at the same time. 

“ _Wait_.” Dean’s voice was urgent. Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“I’m waiting.” he said politely. “Are you going to talk?”

There was a long, long pause. Dean shot his brother a desperate look, and Sam looked uncomfortable, or at least even more uncomfortable than he had done originally. Crowley examined his fingernails and waited for the boys to come to a conclusion. Could be anything, in fairness. There was no chance that an actual, accurate answer for the amulet was going to turn up, which just meant that the boys were going to wrack their little minds for an appropriate answer. Crowley had half a mind to get some popcorn. 

“We’ll show you.”

“I didn’t ask to be shown, I asked for the location.” Crowley sighed. Bugger this for a game of soldiers. It was just as well he was expecting them to lie, otherwise the whole thing would probably be ridiculously frustrating. He ran the cane through his fingertips again and began to slowly prowl toward Sam. Sam, for his part, looked like he was about to turn into Bambi by how wide his eyes had grown. Dean had started to tug on his bindings as though there was any chance that they might fail. Bless.

“Wait! We know, we just don’t know the name. Find a map and I can point it out.”

“Not sure whether I believe you.” Crowley mused.

“It’s the truth!”

Oh, it wasn’t the truth at all, and sometimes that's what really hurt. Not the lies, those were a natural part of life and quite frankly Crowley would have been disappointed if they hadn’t appeared, but the lack of _good_ lies, quality lies. How dim did they really think he was? Honestly. 

“Of course it is.” he replied politely, and raised the cane to gently trace a path down Sam’s broken and bleeding back. Sam hunched a little further over, his breathing already growing quicker in his panic, and Crowley smiled to himself. Six hours solid torture and he could already get some wonderful responses out of the boy. Just imagine what he could do with a couple of days.

“It’s in a storage locker.” Dean broke through his thoughts, his voice still angry but now having a distinct hint of urgency. “One of those big storage places. Our dad had it. It’s in there.”

The cane slowly continued its pattern.

“Well, that’s fantastic to hear,” Crowley replied idly. “And how do you know it's in there?”

“It was on a list of the stuff when we did an inventory.” Dean was apparently really going for the lie. Adorable, really. Big brother stuff, protecting his not-quite-as-little-as-he-once-was brother, but he was an absolute failure. Crowley eyed him, unimpressed.

“I see.”

“It was in a box.” Dean added desperately.

“How big a box?”

The look in Dean’s eyes when he realised he’d skidded into something that could be verified was just beautiful to behold. Green eyes flickered to his brother for help, before turning back to Crowley again, and ah, he was going to go with the cocky route. Crowley pursed his lips. Terrible decision, really.

“Box sized. I don’t know, I didn’t measure it. What the fuck does that matter?”

“Mm.” Crowley gave a small nod and then smacked the cane across Sam’s back again, breaking open a couple of older wounds and generating a wonderful scream from the boy that Sam hadn’t been able to stop. Crowley idly wondered whether something stinging on the wounds might be fun to add as well. Sam was much cuter when he was desperately panting for air. 

He turned to Dean again and raised his eyebrow. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

Dean’s horrified expression turned from Sam back to Crowley before it turned into sheer rage, and that was a terrible decision as well. Honestly, would he never learn? 

“I’m gonna fucking _kill_ you,”

Oh well. Apparently not. Too bad.

“Well, that’s always good to know. I mean, you’ve mentioned that once or twice before, but nice to have life goals, isn’t it Dean?” Another small toothy smile and Sam’s back met up with cane again. The visible flinch from Dean at his brother’s scream was perfect. Could do this all day. Perhaps he should, it wasn’t as though he had anything on at the moment.

Little Sammy was panting as though he’d just run a marathon, hunched over, the blood slowly working its way down to the floor again other than the little blood spray from the impact itself. The second blow had managed to make his eyes water, little silent ones that made new tracks through the grime, and Crowley had no idea how the Winchester boys managed to cry so prettily. A little bloody unfair, he felt.

“Where. Is. It?”

“Odessa.” Dean spoke quickly. “It’s in Odessa. Storage Units. Unit 4B.”

Crowley sighed softly. Not even remotely accurate, although to be fair that might well be worth a look as a potential general Winchester storage spot. Their father had collected a whole range of Weird Shit (™) items during his short lifespan, and it was always nice to have a collection to flick through.

“Don’t believe you.” another smile, another blow, another ragged scream and Sammy wasn’t doing too good. Dean was almost frantic by now, pulling on his binds as though he might suddenly have the supernatural power to break through metal, and Crowley raised an eyebrow at him in interest.

“Why not?! I’m telling you the truth!”

“D’you like my cufflinks?” Crowley asked idly. Dean opened his mouth but hesitated, uncertain where this was going.

“...what?”

“My cufflinks.” Crowley said slowly and patiently as though he was talking to an idiot, which, of course, he was. “Do you like them?”

The Winchester boy slowly looked from Crowley’s eyes to glance warily at the proffered arm and said cufflink. Said cufflink was a gold setting with a dark red gem set in the center, a large piece with definitely sparkly backgrounds. Eyes shifted back to Crowley warily.

“Nice, aren’t they?” Crowley continued. “Now, these have a particular gem set in them. It comes from the time of Aletheia. Ever heard of her?”

Dean looked at him with the expression of one who blatantly wasn’t going to have heard of her. Crowley sighed. The unwashed masses, ladies and gentlemen. Bloody heathens.

“Boy no 2? Would you like to jump in here?” he offered. Sam coughed and looked up, wretched eyes and a puppy dog look that would have melted many a heart. Not his, for obvious reasons, but still, a job well done generally.

“... the Greek one?” his voice was even quieter, a little hiccup, and that confirmed those were tears rather than simply eyes watering. Well, he lasted a lot longer than most of them. Crowley was impressed. “Truth and disclosure, I think.”

“Oh, gold star for Sammy!” Crowley replied cheerfully. “Yes, that’s the one. And this is one of her gems. A pretty version of a lie detector, essentially, for the stuff I want to pay attention to. So, you see my current issue with the validity of your statement.”

Dean stared at him mutinously, his jaw set so hard that he was probably in danger of shattering teeth. Crowley smiled at him. Probably time for the next step, he believed. Dean looked frantic and scared and angry, his body still showing bloody and bruised, and his pain was all too evident. That was the problem with Dean, and indeed the brothers generally. You never tortured the one you wanted the output from, oh no. You tortured the other one, and then waited for the information to just turn up. 

“Dean.” he said softly, almost a conspiratorial murmur between themselves. “I don’t have all day, sweetheart. So, in order to move this along, I think we should raise the stakes. Don’t you?”

The glare managed to find a whole new scary level to go to. Crowley chuckled to himself and placed the cane on the desk once again. 

“Now, I’m getting a bit bored with the whole thrashing thing. I hit, you bleed, there’s a bit of a scream, and yet we don’t seem to be getting anywhere. Terrible really. If we don’t get this sorted I’m going to be missing the next episode of Eastenders, and then where would we be?” Crowley moved behind Sam and reached out to gently touch his hair. Sam stiffened again, and Dean looked about ready to blow up planets.

“So. Let’s try a new take on this, shall we? You might have noticed you’re both naked.”

Sam didn’t respond but the reaction in Dean was almost immediate. Well, well. Apparently he didn’t need to go into rape descriptions after all. Crowley met Dean’s gaze steadily. Of course hell boy would know where he was going with this. Why wouldn’t he?

“I have some good men to try this out for me.” Crowley said softly, his fingers still playing in Sam’s hair idly. “And make no mistake here, Dean. Every cry, every blood drop, every _rip_ , every tear, would be down to you. You want to protect your little baby brother, don’t you?”

And Sam had got onto the same page, finally. His head lifted, an urgent look at Dean.

“Dean, he’s just messing with you, whatever he’s planning is _not your fault-_ ,”

“Shut up otherwise I start it early.” Crowley smacked him but didn’t take his eyes off Dean as he did so. And that was what he thought. Even if everyone had written up a banner saying ‘not your fault’, even if Dean was miles away and had no idea, even if he was _dead_ , the older Winchester boy would assume any hurt to Sammy was Officially His Fault. Getting the younger brother brutally raped in front of him? Oh, there was no question this wouldn’t find a level of pain that only hell normally achieved.

Sure enough, the look of agony in Dean’s eyes was perfectly lovely.

“You’re not going to save him.” he said softly. “Not unless you give me the answer.”

Utterly wretched eyes turned to him. “I can’t. We don’t have it. _We don’t have it_.”

“That’s not the answer I was after.” Crowley cocked his head to one side. “Tell you what. I’ll leave you guys for five minutes, see how you do. And if not, then Sam’s delectable arse is officially mine.” another little smile. “Toodles.” 

And with that he vanished.

*

The holy fire was doing well in its little task to keep Castiel where he was supposed to be. Tricky things, angels. They had a nasty habit of .. well, being annoying, and that included multiple ways of getting out of shit. Still, this particular flavour of angel was going to be useful if it was the last thing Crowley did, and he was planning to do a lot more stuff in the future to want to die right about now. 

“How’s the view?” he asked idly as he came closer, and, as anticipated, the furious look that aimed at him was no less lethal than the one on the angel’s boyfriend. Aww. Adorable, in a ‘didn’t massively care’ way. 

“You will release them.” The voice was so steely it was almost cutlery worthy. 

“No, I don’t think I will.” Crowley reviewed that, then smiled. “Well, not without an appropriate payment, anyway.”

To a certain extent, Sam had been right. No point in being inefficient, and if pleasure could be mixed with business then they won on so many levels. The Winchester boys had always been a nagging thorn in his side, too annoying to ignore and too useful to just straight out murder. Even when they were being massive pains, they were often a wonderful diversion from whatever sneaky shit that Crowley had got into and that was often worth the grey hairs they gave him. Still, the opportunity to beat the crap out of them for profit was one he wasn’t prepared to give up.

“I do not know this amulet of Pabore,” the angel growled. “I cannot retrieve it for you.”

“Well, that is unsurprising considering I’ve just made it up. There is no such thing as an amulet of Pabore.” 

Castiel stared at him with incomprehension. “But.. I have just watched you demand that information from the Winchesters.”

“You did, I’ll give you an A for observation there.”

“But this means that they could never give you what you ask for.”

“Also correct. You’re on a roll here, Cas, you really are.” The angel made a little look down to his feet, and Crowley sighed. “It’s a figure of speech, you’re not actually _on_ \- oh, never mind.”

Castiel glared at him harder. “Then _why?_ ”

“Because I didn’t want them to do their usual throw a spanner in the works and actually give me the information. I don’t want anything out of them, I just want them to think that I do. I want them to think they’re the stars of this little negotiation.” Crowley smiled winningly at him. The angel frowned harder.

“Your target is not them but me.” he said slowly.

“Bingo.” The smile grew a little more shark-like. “I need you to do a little task for me. In exchange, you get the boys back alive. If not, I torture them in front of you. You know, I’m not entirely sure you can rape someone to death but it seems a fun thing to try out, wouldn’t you say?”

It was a fine glare coming his way, all ice-blue and anger and righteous fury. God would be proud, he really would. Well, possibly. Soldiers really shouldn’t keep getting caught in traps like this, it was very unprofessional. Buggered up the whole grr thing for a start. Castiel had turned his attention back onto the screen in front of him, a haunted little look in his eyes as he weighed up the prospects. 

“What did you want me to do?” he asked slowly.

“Just a small artefact tucked away in the arse end of nowhere. The Gerifani.”

Appalled eyes turned back to him. “No. That is too great a magic.”

“Is that your final answer? Because your little boyfriend’s arse is literally on the line here.” Crowley gestured toward the television screen that had been broadcasting activities in the other room. Castiel’s expression did not improve, a stubborn line to his mouth that suggested that the angel was going to be awkward. Still, that wasn’t a problem. Cas wasn’t going to go anywhere, and that meant Crowley actually had justification to do some bad things to the boys as well. Grinning slightly, Crowley pulled out his cell and called one of the minions.

“Simonius. Cane the one with the floppy hair five times more, and then try a quick violation. Make sure the other one watches, make sure it’s in full view of the camera and for the love of hell, make sure you get some nice screams, hmm?”

“Wait,” Castiel said urgently but there had already been an acknowledgement from said minion, and they could both see him moving to pick up the cane. Wasn’t anywhere as good actually being there in technicolour glory with the scents and the sounds and the colours and the vibrancy of the blood and the feelings of anger and pain and sorrow, but perfectly reasonable given the restrictions.

Despite his demand, Castiel seemed remarkably reluctant still, and Crowley turned up the volume on the tv for Sam’s first hoarse scream. Dean was shouting, swearing, a hint of begging in there as well, but he couldn’t do anything or say anything and that was so sweet it almost caused cavities. 

“Now, I’m not sure if you’re a betting man, but my money is placed on Sam passing out before Simonius finishes in him.” Crowley was feeling chatty today. “He’s lost quite a bit of blood and I think he’s in shock. But don’t worry. If he does pass out then we’ll just move to Dean. I’m sure he’ll be more ….ah.. Resilient.” 

Another crack of the cane. Number Two. The cry wavered in the middle as his vocal chords gave way for a moment, and yeah, Sammy definitely didn’t look too good. Poor little boy. 

“Like to remind you that after the fifth one we move onto sexual violation, and my man there is a big chap. Not going to say how I know that, but just take my word for it.” Crowley shrugged. “Tick tock, Castiel, tick tock.”

He wasn’t sure whether the angel wasn’t in shock either, he seemed to be almost switched off as he stared at the screen in what appeared to be horror. Crowley eyed him carefully. That would be really sodding annoying if he had blown the angel’s fuse, but surely the damned things weren’t that breakable? There had been enough religious smiting of mass civilisations in the past under God’s orders that angels probably had more blood on their hands than the dark side did.

“And just to remind you,” he purred softly. “I know about your healing abilities, really lovely, good glowing feeling and so forth. But you can fix their bodies, not their minds. They could be all restored to good health and yet I bet little Sammy will be waking up in the middle of the night with cold sweats, and Dean will get even more angsty than he normally is. Speaking of your boy, look at his eyes. I doubt whether I’d get that expression even if I’d killed puppies in front of him. Sometimes you don’t actually have to murder someone to kill them.”

Swish. Scream. 

“Three.” 

Sam was definitely sagging now, and from the second monitor it looked like his lower half had been opened up a little more. Hard to tell with the blood. And Dean? Dean looked like he was about to cry, possibly already was. He’d been begging and pleading and threatening and trying to pull his wrists out of their manacles to the extent that Crowley could see the blood from where it had dug into his skin. 

“That artefact could potentially kill millions.” Castiel finally said, although Crowley was pretty sure that wasn’t for his benefit.

“We can only hope.” he agreed solemnly. “Coming up to four now…. Ah! There we go. And damn, I’m half wondering whether he’ll pass out before we actually start ransacking his arse. Difficult one to call, isn’t it?”

“I cannot.” Cas whispered.

“You can. You _shouldn’t_ , is what you mean.” Crowley advised, and then raised an eyebrow as the cane rose again. “Coming up to five now and we all know what that means-,”

“Stop.”

“Is that a yes?”

Castiel straightened his back and stared at him defiantly. “That is a yes. Stop this.”

“Well, that’s just fantastic,” Crowley smiled at him and then raised the cell again, his eyes watchful on the angel. “Simonius, hold fast. Let’s give them some time to recover, shall we? No fun if they both die on us too early, is there.”

“If either of them dies I will-,”

“Yes, yes, I know. Kill you slowly or quickly or with a slice of lemon, I know the drill.” Crowley waved that off. “And, speaking of that, let’s make something very clear. They’re both in a room that is pretty solidly angel proof, and quite frankly I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t certain on that. I’m fond of this vessel and death is tiresome. If you try to kill me once you’re out then the boys will be killed immediately, no hesitation. Neither of them is in a fit state to help you with a rescue. Essentially, don’t piss me about, okay?”

“It is understood.” the words were ground out through gritted teeth.

“So nice to have enthusiastic help.” Crowley sighed, then waved a hand and a map appeared on the nearby table. “So. It’s here,” a little finger jab at the relevant part. “And I’m assuming you remember all of the ritual elements for this little trinket.”

“It will take time.”

“I have all the time in the world.” Crowley smiled back. “Well, metaphorically speaking, I’m also an impatient bastard so we’ll work with what we have.”

“You will not hurt them in the meantime.” Castiel’s glare was still deadly. Angels. So dramatic. Crowley held up his hands.

“Heaven forbid.”

“It does. Very strongly.”

“Good to know.” Crowley gave a tilt of his head. “They will not deteriorate further, I can assure you of that.” 

Granted, that was mostly because the main route to Castiel’s control was showing him the damage as it happened rather than simply a corpse at the end, but who was counting. He gave another little smile, and carefully broke the holy fire. And that wasn’t to be sniffed at either, holy fire was an absolute nightmare to both get hold of and use, but who knew.

Another little furious look and the angel vanished. Sometimes Crowley reckoned that they should leave a few little white angel feathers just for added dramatics, but that would probably be over the top. Sighing, he turned back to the screen and frowned slightly at the flagging bloody bundle known as Sam. Great. Might have broken him a little too much. 

Well, they had a short time. Sticking plasters were all the rage nowadays, so he heard.

*

Operation ‘Don’t Die’ was doing well, Crowley felt. The boys were still shackled, albeit their ankles now, and everything that could possibly be adapted to be tool-like had been removed from their presence. Still, Sam wasn’t planning on going anywhere fast, that was for certain, and Dean wasn’t much better although the elder Winchester was still shooting his mouth off whenever there was a demon in the room.

Not that they could see him, of course. Normally Crowley wouldn’t bother with the side tasks, but this one had a special element to it and besides which it was certainly worthwhile to see how the boys ticked when they thought no one was looking. He’d allowed them the ability to reach each other, not least as a mitigation element for medical issues, and Dean was already trying to tend his brother. Badly, needless to say, but apparently the thought was what counted. That method didn’t normally work well with medical issues but who knew, perhaps they’d be lucky.

“It’s okay, Sammy.” Dean had half pulled him into a hug, a very careful one to avoid Sam’s injured back and ass from pressing on things but that was pretty much a no-goer almost immediately. Still, Crowley could see the look in the younger boy’s face, a trusting hope that his brother would protect him, and that was both sweet and misguided at the same time. He could happily rip out little Sammy’s organs right in front of Dean with no real problems whatsoever, but that was a poor way to end it. It was also very sweet of them to show him their vulnerabilities so damned clearly. It was okay? Clearly Dean was suffering from a concussion. If life was currently okay then clearly Crowley wasn’t doing his job correctly.

The younger boy had found a way to curl up on his brother’s lap without pressing too hard on the main injuries and seemed to be the one doing the best out of the current situation. His eyes had closed, hand resting gently on his brother’s knee, but there was a distinct feeling of relief.

Dean? Not so much. His protective streak so activated that Crowley was pretty sure he could see hairs standing on end, Dean clearly had no idea how to protect, save or otherwise extricate little Sammy from their current woes. Fighting, his usual method, was out. So was arguing, and even Dean had the common sense to know that sarcastic little numbers would simply increase the number of blows just to spite him. Bargaining had never been Dean’s strong point, and they didn’t even have the option of obedience. 

Oh yes. They were utterly buggered. Their own chance of survival rested in Castiel’s hands, and they didn’t even know that was an option. The look of concern, fear, anger and despair in Dean’s eyes would give Crowley happy dreams for some time. He was fairly certain there had even been a tear or two when Sam hadn’t been looking, and those always tasted the sweetest.

Dean’s gaze kept moving back to the door, and Crowley suspected that was simply due to his own failure to reappear to the set schedule. “Five minutes” had now already been over an hour, and to the boys they were the ones who held Crowley’s objective. A protective arm was wrapped around little Sammy as though that might in some way help. So adorable. So _pointless_ , but everyone was allowed at least one Disney moment.

Oh, bugger it. He couldn’t resist.

“Hello, boys.”

Beautiful, just beautiful. Dean’s eyes went from fear to murder in 0.003 seconds, although from the lack of response from Sam it appeared that the younger boy had finally passed out. That would be even more amusing, Dean being unable to actually fight because he was trapped under his brother’s weight. Pity.

“I told you, we don’t know where it is.” Dean hissed fiercely.

“Mmm.” Crowley agreed that this was definitely something that had been said. “Only that doesn’t help, does it?”

Dean’s arm tightened around his brother protectively, green eyes fierce and unforgiving. Crowley sighed softly and waved a hand.

“Now, much as I hate to offer suggestions, but this is normally the part of the script where you offer something in exchange. You know, to give me a new reason to let you go.” An eyebrow lifted in what Crowley hoped was a pointed manner, but sometimes you really did have to give some subtitles as well. “And if we can skip the usual threats that would be appreciated. I’ve been threatened by creatures significantly tougher and with more imagination than you. Just assume we’ve covered them already, mm?”

Dean hadn’t yet given some sarcastic come back, which at least was promising. 

“Like what?”

“Work something out. Try me with some options.” Crowley drawled. Did he have to do everything? Just couldn’t get the sodding staff. Dean frowned at him, and for a moment the demon wondered briefly whether they’d accidentally hit him too hard and he was genuinely suffering from a concussion. But no, it seemed the Winchester boy really was that dim. Pity, really.

“I..,”

“Take your time,” Crowley settled on the nearby desk and idly picked at his fingernails. “Just run your mind through all the random stuff you’ve been up to. What do you think might appeal to me?”

Dean scowled at him. “You expect me to just give you everything I have?”

“No, Mr Winchester, I expect you to die.” Crowley replied immediately then offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ve wanted to do that for a while. Although it’s not entirely wrong. I _am_ expecting you to die, but you might surprise me.”

The scowl continued but Crowley didn’t care, simply watching them for a moment. Sam was dead to the world, hopefully only figuratively, and Dean continued to guard his body as thoughts clearly mashed around his head. And what would the industrious Dean Winchester give to save them both? Soul was unlikely, and besides which that particular soul was both second hand and trouble with a capital T, not least because the angel would definitely be Displeased. Still, it didn't mean that there weren’t a few other possibilities.

“Well, are you looking for a thing or information?” Dean said finally and tiredly. Crowley considered this. Items were occasionally useful but normally circumstance specific. Information, again, could be sodding anything, although it was a fair bet that anything crazy would probably be the fault of the Winchesters. It normally was.

“You’re very close to that angel of yours,” Crowley mused, mostly to himself. Angel news was certainly an interesting heads up, although he was bound to find out eventually. Still, an early warning saved a lot of effort. Dean’s eyes had moved into a new aspect of wary, the blood stains and bruising simply emphasising it all.

“You keep him out of it.” it was soft but fierce. Well, well. Was this a surprise? Of course not, they were puppy dog eyes for each other since the boy had been dragged out of hell, so much so that Crowley wouldn’t have been surprised if some type of enchantment hadn’t taken place. 

“I don’t think I will.” Crowley mused. Ah, that classic tale of brother versus boyfriend. Or boyfriend versus boyfriend, the Winchesters seemed to take brotherly love to a whole new level. This formed yet another one of Dean’s multiple guilts, although oddly Sam seemed to take it in his stride as though it was perfectly normal. Still, that kid had been buggered up since birth, so that was unsurprising as well.

Speaking of the brother, Dean’s arm had tightened even more around him and Crowley smirked inwardly. Didn’t even matter if he didn’t get anything out of this exercise, the sheer level of annoyance to Dean was well worth the time. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doing.” Crowley drawled, readjusting his position. “Everyone knows it. Wouldn’t be the first time that an angel has become … let’s say, _overly attached_ to a human.”

“We fight on the same team,” Dean gritted out.

“Oh, is that what we call it nowadays? Kids and their phrases.” A little bright smile. “Well, at least you don’t have to worry about STDs when you’re, uh, fighting on the same team.” 

Dean readjusted his position again, still desperately trying to protect Sam, but there was definitely another wary look and this time it wasn’t actually at Crowley. The demon paused in surprise before a slow, deliberate grin spread across his features. Oh, now this was too perfect.

“Neither of them know about the other one?” he murmured. “Is that even possible?”

Dean scowled harder. 

“Castiel I can faintly understand, him not being particularly adept at subtleties and his family life being a little unusual anyway, but the moose? He’s normally very sharp and normally pretty pessimistic.” Crowley’s gaze fell on the still sleeping and/or unconscious Sam in Dean’s lap thoughtfully. “Or is it that he suspects but you’re still giving him the good old ‘we’re just friends’ routine?”

The scowl darkened further. That was probably a yes. Crowley chuckled in delight. 

“Oh, sometimes I wish there was more like you. You don’t need me, you create your own personal hell without any assistance whatsoever.” he paused. “And then I remember all the times you messed up my plans and been a general wanker, so actually, let’s keep it to just you.”

“Just drop it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. When you’ve been alive for as long as I have then you grab every bit of entertainment you can.” Crowley studied him a little more. “How far have you got with each of them, I wonder?”

“Shut up.”

“Now, Cas, I don’t think it’s gone too far. He’s still all innocent and romantic and pining for you whenever you’re apart, and I’m pretty sure that would have turned a little more saucy if you’d been screwing in your little dream world. Turns the puppy into a hound dog, if you get my drift. Touching, perhaps a little kiss, those little gooey eyes across far distances, the frankly my dear I don’t give a damn attitude. All enough to make you want to hurl.” Crowley’s head tilted to one side. “But that’s not the same for little Sammy there, is it? Oh, I’m sure it started off as a hug and a kiss, it always does, and then it moved into -.”

“ _Shut up_ ” Dean snapped, and the desperation was so evident that Crowley could almost taste it. Of course there was one last implication to make, and it was normally the one that had a lot of fireworks associated with it.

“How old was he when you first touched him, Dean?” he murmured, and if the older boy hadn’t got said Sammy on his lap then he was pretty sure he’d have tried to stand up and deck him. Oh, beautiful.

“He was twenty three, and shut the fuck up.” 

“Twenty three? Well, that’s later than I’d imagined. Still, it does take a few years to properly groom someone.” his words were delicate and Dean looked like he could happily slaughter millions without raising a sweat. Crowley chuckled softly. Too easy. His gaze fell on the sleeping boy again, so innocent despite the fact that most of his body was covered in drying blood, and then back up at Dean slowly and in immense satisfaction.

“And what would he think of your little infatuation with your angel, I wonder?” The words were soft and pondering. “There’s a Queen song about it, you know. Too much love will kill you. Quite good, I’d highly recommend it for your current situation.”

Apparently Dean wasn’t in the mood for musical recommendations. And yes, this was perfect. Didn’t matter what he got out of this, either Dean told his partners what was going on with all the fun and games that would result in, or Crowley had a lovely piece of gossip to hold over his head. And, by the hunted look in Dean’s eyes, it was fairly clear that the older Winchester boy had understood this little conundrum. Bless. 

“A crazy world, isn’t it?” Crowley sat, swinging his legs like he was a child at play. “You know, I’m now not even sure I want to set some type of task for you. Let’s perhaps call this the ability to call in a _favour_ , because even if you do confess to each of them, I bet a little murmur in an ear would make it all the more interesting, mm? I mean, that is what we do, us demons. We sit on shoulders and we whisper,”

Dean was silent, and that was a good look for him. 

“Or, of course, to get me off your back, you could perhaps organise a little vial of some angel blood - living donor, please - and we’ll call it a day.”

Didn’t really have any use for it right at that point, but angel blood was a useful little ingredient for recipes with an often limited time preparation slot. And anyway, it _sounded_ good. Blood rituals, commands, the whole she-bang. And that was all part of the fun, wasn’t it? It didn’t matter whether something worked, just as long as everyone else thought it did. 

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Dean growled softly.

“But you _are_ going to hurt him. One way or the other, you will. It’s a Winchester talent,” Crowley’s voice had turned into a soft purr, and best thing? He wasn’t even trying. “Pick one or the other, cupcake. If you find you can’t do it, then I’ll be happy with my little vial.”

He was about to continue when there was a soft murmur and Sam stirred slightly on Dean’s lap before he settled back down into whatever currently counted as sleep. Dean’s hand gently stroked over him for a moment before he raised his head again and stared back at Crowley angrily. And yet… nothing. 

And in this circumstance, silence was as good as agreement.

“Good doing business with you, sweetheart,” Crowley glanced carelessly at his cell that had just flashed up a text message and then smiled again. Oh, what timing. He glanced back at Dean, winked, and then vanished again.

Things to do, angels to harass. The usual.

*

The item was on the table and it was glorious. A job well done, and Crowley surveyed it in pleasure. If he’d known how easy it was to obtain angel delivery service then he’d have grabbed the Winchester boys a long time ago. Sighing in satisfaction, he straightened up again and looked toward said angel who was glowering at him with all the power of an old testament prophet faced with numerous naughty sins. Well, habits died hard, he supposed.

“You know, that whole ‘I am the lord’ thing works a lot better without the trenchcoat.” he advised. “Quite frankly that coat looks like it’s about to generate bacterial colonies of its own.”

Castiel was apparently not in the mood for fashion discussions. 

“You will now release the Winchesters.”

“Oh, Cassie. So dramatic.” Crowley raised an eyebrow and waved a hand toward the screen. “As you can see they’re both perfectly fine. See? Even little Sam has woken up and is talking to his brother, which is a slight relief as for a short time I wasn’t sure whether he’d actually died. But, good news! There he is, and he’s not even undead. I call that a win, don’t you?”

Castiel took a step forward in what was probably supposed to be a threatening manner. It needed work.

“Transport them outside immediately.”

“Would a please harm you? Seriously?” Crowley rolled his eyes but smiled politely and made a little snap of his fingers. “There you go. I even took the liberty of adding some underwear. And furthermore-,”

The angel vanished again. Crowley sighed. Yes, they definitely needed to add a feather or two, or possibly some dramatic angel smoke thing. For his part he did a nice little snap of the fingers, and certainly he didn’t _need_ to do it but it made the world that much smoother. Angels. No sense of class or performance.

He moved back to the table and gently stroked his fingers across the artefact. Mm. Well worth the effort, and he hadn’t even lost anything either. Plans and organisation, that was what the world needed, with a little tiny element of chaos. And his current chaos was probably sitting back at the motel getting his wounds tended to wondering whether he had the bollocks to be able to talk to the people he claimed to love. 

It wasn’t until the next day until he discovered the answer to that.

Still, at least he had a nice vial of angel blood to add to his collection.

END


End file.
